


Dirty, Bloody Fingers

by OverMyFreckledBody



Series: Soul the Color of Poppies [1]
Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: (So Much), (again...), Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Alternate Universe - Magical Realism, Blood, Blood Magic, Finger Sucking, M/M, Magical Stiles Stilinski, Masturbation, Mouth Kink, Unresolved Sexual Tension
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-01
Updated: 2018-02-01
Packaged: 2019-03-12 03:39:10
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,934
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13538907
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/OverMyFreckledBody/pseuds/OverMyFreckledBody
Summary: Stiles, as an Inclined, uses blood for a lot of his spells. Most of the time it's his own, but lately...Lately it's been... Derek's?





	Dirty, Bloody Fingers

**Author's Note:**

> i've been thinking about this one for a while. since last halloween actually. but i made a deal with fucking turqii to write today and haven't posted anything this month anyway soOOO  
> (HELL YEAH THO I ACTUALLY POSTED SOMETHING THIS MONTH)
> 
> it's the blood moon today (lunar eclipse on a very full moon (which was yesterday) that makes it turn red), so i thought this fit
> 
> title largely inspired by [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=NC_his0-SKw) / also wrote a little to [this song](https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=SoCZR6WeTxU) tho it mainly doesn't apply 
> 
> links of good inspiration (with pictures and mentions of blood) [x](http://dovewithscales.tumblr.com/post/157578748472/on-blood-magic) | [x](http://pomegranateandivy.tumblr.com/post/99862868507/blood-magic-protection-jar) | [x](http://fleshwerks.tumblr.com/post/145009442442/rushed-the-second-multiplayer-tarot-style-card-for) | [x](https://magicusersresource.tumblr.com/post/97535935901/blood-magic-resources) | [x](http://pomegranateandivy.tumblr.com/post/95771160527/for-anyone-that-wants-all-five-of-my-spell-waters) | [x](http://mypieceofculture.tumblr.com/post/159676199551/witch-aesthetics-blood-witch-requested-chaos) | [x](https://lovely-hues.tumblr.com/post/162848602142/blood-aesthetic)
> 
> if you have ANY hesitation about anything relating to blood, check the warnings at the bottom

                Stiles is an Inclined with an aversion (it’s not quite a _fear_ – it’s _not_ , Scott) to needles. Funny how life works like that sometimes. It makes things a little harder, a little messier, yes, but he makes do. So, he uses a knife and is very careful – if he was using needles, he’d be just as careful, but this is different – to keep it clean, to never cut himself too deep. He used to keep up with making sure he always had enough in the fridge, bottled and labeled, but with school getting more in the way, as well as all the dumb werewolf shenanigans, he’s fallen a bit behind.

 

                It’s why he’s here, now, on a time crunch, hurrying to get everything together, make sure he has Band-Aids and his knife is just as clean as he left it. It kinda sucks that he has to do it like this, with little preparation, and –

 

                And Derek. Because he’s here. For some reason. As far as Stiles knows, he wanted to watch and Stiles just never said no, or he wants to make sure Stiles is doing it right (like he’d do it _wrong_ somehow). At this point, it’s barely a distraction, but not enough of one that Stiles is going to waste time trying to get rid of.

 

                (Especially when he has a really strong feeling that Derek won’t leave, anyway.)

 

                Despite this, Stiles actually finds a way to get everything together. Herb case, check. Larger tracking spell, check. Mix bowl – it’s his favorite, a wooden one he carved years ago with his mother, enchanted himself, with bits of the whole family embedded – check. Map, check. Knife, ch-

 

                “What the hell are you doing?”

 

                Stiles startles (thankfully, he’d already put the knife aside), and whips around to look at Derek, who’s eyes flick from him to the knife once, fleetingly. _Ah_. He’s probably never seen an Inclined at work before. Well, not one that was retrieving blood for a spell, maybe. He pointedly looks down at his work table and back up again. “About to cast that tracking spell?”

 

                “With the knife.” Damn, if that ain’t blunt as hell and not even a question.

 

                Still, “You’ll see,” Stiles quips as ominously as he can with the barest amount of effort he can spare at the moment before going over everything once more in his head. He’s pretty glad that they’re a little strained for time now, because with a comment like that, in any other moment he’s sure he’d get his ass kicked for that. Oh well.

 

                “Time to start,” he mutters to himself, under his breath, and takes in a deep breath. He closes his eyes and focuses on forgetting about the world around him, about the deadline that edges closer with every second, about the feeling of Derek’s searing gaze on the back of his neck. He can do this. He will do this in time, and they’ll find out where that stupid artefact is, and they’ll find it before anybody else. They’ll save the day, as they always do, even if it has to be in the nick of time, as it always is.

 

                Nobody has to die this time.

 

                This spell involves a lot of roots (including the last of his ginger), which he tosses a pinch of each into the bowl before shaking a little to give them a slight mix before he heads onto the next step. Reading over what he’s going to have to recite next, he reaches absentmindedly for his knife and slides the edge of it against his palm, not yet deep enough to cut.

 

                “Stiles!” Derek’s sharp snap of his name breaks him out of his focus. This time, when Stiles turns to look at him, he’s staring at the knife before his eyes slowly find their way to Stiles’ own. In a way, that one word is its own question.

 

                “What?” He asks, holding the knife to his skin. He doesn’t cut into it yet, not wanting to spill perfectly fine blood onto the floor instead of into the bowl. “I need it for the spell.”

 

                Derek’s eyebrows pinch together, expression dubious, and that’s just silly. Everybody knows about the Inclined and it’s not really secret knowledge that many of them use blood for their magic. Besides, this is far from Stiles’ first rodeo – he knows what he’s doing, and he’s not going to let Derek’s uncertainty faze him. God, Scott tried to pull this bullshit too –

 

                “Does it have to be yours?” Derek asks, staring again at the knife, then at the bowl, and Stiles can see the wheels turning in his head for a plan. Stiles isn’t normally a fan of that look because Derek’s plans tend to get himself beat up (and thrown off of things, out of things, shot, jumped, and so on and so on), but…

 

                Is he offering what Stiles thinks he’s offering? Or is he just being an ass about Stiles’ blood (which wouldn’t seem like him, but maybe his own blood would smell better to him than Stiles’?)?

 

                “Uh… I guess not,” because, really, it doesn’t have to be. His hand goes limp and the knife flattens against his palm. “It just has to be from someone alive – you know, the whole life force aspect – to give the spell a kind of boost and…” he trails off, eyebrows furrowing, because Derek’s stepping up closer, flexing his arm. “What?”

 

                Dumb question, really, he knows. It’s kind of clear that Derek’s offering right now.

 

                Derek outstretches a hand over the bowl, palm face up and – keeping that fucking, goddamn, unwavering eye contact – grunts, “Here.” And when Stiles only openly stares at him, because – “I’ll heal.”

 

                Yeah, and so would Stiles. It’s never _that_ deep. He’d just take a little longer to heal rather than immediately.

 

                – and because, because blood sharing is kind of… personal, almost… intimate. He’s only used the blood of three other people in his life. One’s dead, the other is Scott, who’s weird about the whole thing (he used to gag when he saw the red bottles in the fridge, but it’s not like they would contaminate the rest of the food), and his dad. He uses his dad’s blood often, actually, and it’s a nice way for them to do something together, but with the more need for him at work right now, they haven’t been able to get around to it as much anymore.

 

                Stiles opens his mouth to say something, anything, not that he’s sure what it would be, but nothing comes out, and Derek only pushes on. “How much do you need?”

 

                Well. Not a lot of time to go back, now. Not when he knows Derek would fight him about it.

 

                Clearing his throat, he rips his gaze away from holding Derek’s and reaches forward to curl his fingers around Derek’s own, warm hand, and tilts it so the blood will run freely into the bowl and herb mixture. “Not much,” he mumbles, shifting the knife forward and thinking on how to keep the cut from running too deep at this awkward angle. He ducks his head and tries to focus, but –

 

                There’s Derek’s voice next to his ear, words much gentler than before, a soft, physical gust against his skin, “Take as much as you need.”

 

                Shivering, Stiles pauses for a second before making a shallow cut and says nothing.

 

                They watch it heal up before their eyes and the blood drip into the bowl, and while Derek drops his arm against his side, he doesn’t step, or even lean back. He stays close, even as Stiles reaches forward to smear the blood into the mixture with his finger before shaking the bowl again. Stiles can feel him hot against his side as he recites the words – nothing he actually remembers saying, just letting the words filter from his eyes to his mouth, jittery hands shaking the paper – and throws the blood and herbs onto the map. They fall into a perfect circle around a single building and when Stiles jabs a finger into the center of it, the hairs on his arms raise when he feels the phantom heat of Derek get closer, following him. He lists off the street, glancing out of the corner of his eye at where Derek’s arm moved.

 

                To the other side of Stiles, hand landing on the table next to his hip. Near enough to tug him in close.

 

                Fuck.

 

                He bites his lip and Derek finally, _finally_ steps back, leaving Stiles’ room to go call Scott. The second he’s out, Stiles sags against the table like a puppet with its strings cut, and closes his eyes as he lets out a sigh. He feels like he’s coming down from a rush, his heart beating fast, but slowing down, and he feels the need to sit.

 

                Magic’s never given him this before. But even Stiles knows that wasn’t just from the spell.

 

* * *

 

 

                Derek is watching again. Stiles isn’t too sure why this time, seeing as this spell has less to do with the pack and Stiles already gave him the information he originally came for. No, instead of leaving right after that, he’d let his eyes catch on Stiles’ work table, herb case set on it, bowl out, spell book already opened to a certain page, and asked if Stiles was doing another spell. And then, instead of nodding and being on his own damn way, had wandered over to the table and waited for Stiles to do it.

 

                If Stiles wasn’t in the middle of getting it set up, he would have just stopped it.

 

                Whatever. He did a spell with Derek breathing down his neck before, he can do it again. (He ignores the knowledge of how that ended last time – with the artefact, yes, but also with his veins on fire since there was no time to jerk off the tension that’d came with it.)

 

                “Milkweed and violets already in there…” he mutters to himself, dragging his finger over his notes to double check that he has everything. Coffee, lavender, almond… Looks like he has it all. He puts in the remainder of the ingredients and reaches for his shard of obsidian that he cleansed last night while the moon was still heavy in the sky (but not quite full).

 

                He starts to chew on his lip, hard enough to hopefully split it, as he grabs a vial he’d filled with water from a stream that ran through the Preserve. Uncapping it, he starts to drizzle it over the obsidian, letting the water spill off of it and through his fingers, into the bowl with the rest of the plants. As he’s doing so, he speaks the first half of the spell, continuing to chew at his lip when he finishes, and sets the obsidian in the middle of the pile. Man, it’d be much easier if he’d just taken his knife and –

 

                “No blood this time?” Derek asks from behind him once he’s been quiet for a couple minutes – fucking stepping forward as if he can’t see – and he _can_ – from where he was before.

 

                Stiles glances at him, squinting, before turning back to the table. He gestures with one hand to his lips, probably reddening and full of indentions from his teeth. “I need to ingest it for this spell, sometimes it’s easier to just…” He bites harder, and when he looks over at Derek, he _swears_ he can see his eyes quickly flip _upwards_ to meet his own. “Usually I have a… few vials I could use, but…”

 

                Derek’s eyes flick to his hand, the one he usually cuts into, his left, before heading to his mouth, and then back _up_ again, fast, but not fast enough. Stiles saw it in action that time.

 

                His mouth falls open, and he’s speechless, brows starting to furrow, because… Derek can’t seem to keep his eyes off of Stiles’ lips. And a couple times, even, it looks as if his gaze starts to travel down his nose before it rights itself again. Holy shit.

 

                Derek doesn’t let him stare too long, of course, before he says, “Here,” voice gruff, and Stiles watches as he pushes out a claw and uses it to cut a light line across the pad of Derek’s thumb. He’s then moving quick, stepping forward when Stiles moves back, ass hitting the edge of the work table. His movements are so unlike his words, almost _tender_ when he slips his thumb, bleeding, past Stiles’ open lips and onto his tongue.

 

                Stiles’ breath catches hard in his throat, and the only part of him that moves are his fingers, still wet from the river water, as they flex and drop the vial onto the carpet beneath him. It’s quickly forgotten, and Stiles is frozen, only capable of watching and – tasting.

 

                He can taste the iron-copper of the blood that spreads over his tongue, mixing with his saliva – especially as Derek starts to _rub_ it over the muscle, occasionally pressing in, oh, so lightly, like he wants to rub it _into_ him. Stiles’ jaw works on its own and swallows around Derek’s thumb to keep the drool from spilling over his lips. As he does, his tongue pushes upwards just a tad, more into Derek, and comes to life, pressing more, curling around the appendage. It slides over the cut and he can feel it healing in his mouth – how weird is _that_? – skin stitching together, hot, too hot for a human thumb, and then –

 

                Watching, he can see the way that Derek doesn’t even pretend to keep his eyes off of Stiles’ mouth now. He can see his pupils darken, taking over all color that Stiles can see. He catches sight of Derek’s own tongue darting forward to slink slowly across his bottom lip before his lips fold close together, as if wanting to taste the trace. He watches Derek even step forward and they’re not close enough that he can feel it, but Stiles knows that if they were, their legs would be interlocked. Derek has a foot between Stiles own, and his other placed somewhere on the other side of him, as if attempting to cage him in, press him in against the table.

 

                After what is probably forever, Derek finally pulls his thumb back, inch by inch, until it’s released by Stiles’ mouth. He drags it across Stiles’ bottom lip, eyes shifting to watch every moment, and pushes down briefly when he gets to one edge, taking in the way the skin molds pliantly beneath it.

 

                “That good?” He asks, and his voice is coarse, and Stiles wants it rubbed all over him. He wants it talking to him in the dead of night. He wants it whispering _that good for you?_ into his ear while that thumb does much, much more dirtier things.

 

                Somehow, though he can’t find his voice (how does Derek know how to do that to him?), he nods. Derek steps back further, and nods back at him, and –

 

                Stiles can’t catch his breath, and Derek can’t stop staring at his fucking lips.

 

* * *

 

 

                (Derek left soon after, and Stiles barely bothered waiting until he knew he was out of hearing range before yanking down his pants and falling onto his sheets. He bites his lip and wraps a hand around himself. It’s just the image of Derek, of biting Derek’s own lip hard enough to bleed, sucking it into his mouth to swallow down the blood. It’s just that image, and the taste still in the back of his throat, the phantom heat still on his lip, tongue, that has him arching off the bed and pulling at his own hair in desperation.

 

                Funnily enough, that’s when he swipes his tongue over his bottom lip and finds it come away with an iron-coppery taste.)

 

* * *

 

 

                “Stiles?” A voice calls from the kitchen, and Stiles wanders in to see his father holding up a couple of fresh, red bottles, correctly labeled _blood! do not eat or drink!_ in his hand. “Whose are these?”

 

                He shuffles his feet, but otherwise attempts to appear inconspicuous. “Uh, mine.” He does his best to give his dad a confused look, but it’s probably just as convincing as if he’d just done the ironically not-at-all-casual “casual lean” that’s featured in every comedy show at least once. “Dad, do we need to have the ‘magic talk’ again?”

 

                Dad closes his eyes and uses the hand holding the bottoms to pinch at the bridge of his nose. “I know this isn’t mine, and I know you don’t take this much from yourself in one period, so I’m going to ask again. Whose blood is this?”

 

                Damn his father and his sharp detecting skills.

 

                “Scott’s,” he lies, immediately, though he knows even without his dad’s _are you sure you don’t want to revise that_ eyebrow of judgement that it didn’t work. Even his dad knows about Scott’s weirdness about blood sharing – Stiles has complained about it enough before.

 

                His dad puts away the bottles and swings around to point a finger at him. “I want to see them at dinner this Friday.”

 

                Shit.

 

                “Sure,” he tries, though his voice is weak, and they both know his dad is going to win this one. “I’ll tell Melissa to cook up some good carnitas for him to bring over.”

 

                Leaving the room, his dad waves a hand over his shoulder, vaguely in Stiles’ direction. “No, you won’t,” he says, sure and confident, and fuck.

 

                No. No, he won’t, goddamn it.

**Author's Note:**

> There is a lot of on screen and mentions of blood. In NO way is it related to self-harm, or is that even mentioned. It is purely for Stiles' magic and spells.
> 
> There is brief moment where Stiles ingests Derek's blood. There is mentions of where he "typically does this with his own". All is very small amounts. 
> 
> If you have any questions and would like to ask before you read (though don't feel like you need to! this is definitely not everyone's cup of tea), comment below and I'll reply as soon as I can. 
> 
> ~~I also have one additional idea for a scene, if someone wants to ask for it? But it didn't tie in perfectly to the above, so I didn't put it in. Wouldn't mind making a quick comment!fic though.~~  
>  **EDIT:** Check out those comment!fics (yes, multiple!) below. :D  
>  **EDIT2:** Hey, there's a kinda sequel, though with a different tone to it!. [It's got birds? ](http://archiveofourown.org/works/13671936)  
> **EDIT3:** It's a series now, if you wanna read it. [ALSO LOOK AT WHAT TURQII DREW ME AAAAAAAAA](http://turqidoodles.tumblr.com/post/171401268182/glompto-wrote-this-lovely-fic-and-i-drew-this)
> 
> Anyway, glad to have anyone read! Hope you have a good day!


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